Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
by Panther3
Summary: Harry is sick and tired of Voldemort. After the Third Task, Harry gained a new sense of purpose-defeat Voldemort. Harry suffers through personal training to become the best he can at all sorts of fighting skills. However, Harry will be faced with much mor


**Disclaimer**: If I owned the illustrious Harry Potter and related characters, why the hell would I be wasting my time writing fan fiction for free when I could be writing Harry Potter stories for millions of dollars?

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix 

          Harry stared at the ceiling of the smallest bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive. Rolling over, he sighed in remorse. He'd been doing it again. Reminiscing on the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. The task that had led to the death of an innocent bystander, the death of a friend. _Curse you, Voldemort!_ Harry thought suddenly. _I will not blame myself for this anymore! You will pay for what you did to Cedric! You will pay for all that you have done to witches and wizards everywhere! And I shall be the one to make you suffer for what you've done! I swear on my life you will be defeated, even if I must sacrifice myself to make this come to be! _

          Harry remained in his bed until dawn, when he pulled himself up and into the bathroom to take a shower. After getting dressed, Harry trudged downstairs to prepare breakfast for the Dursleys, thinking of ways to achieve his objective- train until he was strong enough to confront Voldemort. He would need to be fit, Harry realized. Competent in all sorts of fighting, not just dueling with a wand. The first thing he needed to do was build up his endurance and strength, probably by running. Harry nodded to himself. It would also help if he got some sort of job at a construction sight or something. Enrolling in fighting classes would require money, something the Dursleys would never provide. As he was unable to withdraw his money from Gringotts until he went to Diagon Alley for his school supplies, he'd need to come up with some quick cash.

~*~*~

          That was how Harry found himself in front of a construction site bustling with brawny workers tanned from the harsh sun. Harry took a deep breath, steeled himself and resolutely made his way toward a middle-aged man with brown hair peppered with gray, who was snapping out orders with the ease of long experience. Harry approached him hesitantly, faltering slightly when flinty blue eyes locked on him with the intensity of a laser. Reaching the impatient man, Harry cleared his throat nervously and spoke.

          "I'm here to apply for a job opening that I read about in the paper. I know I don't really look like a good person for such a demanding job, but I am a hard worker and will try my best." The man examined Harry closely. The boy was rather short, about 5'4" with scrawny, pale arms and a slender, delicate build that looked frail and easily broken. Still, the man, Grant Burks, could sense a hidden power and grace that was similar to what you'd sense in a wild, untamable animal. Doubtfully, and with no little trepidation, Grant hired the boy as a part time worker in the section of the site that held large, broken bits of concrete, instructing him to begin moving them to the opposite side of the site where they would be loaded into trucks and shipped off to the dump yard. Harry agreed, and after the amount of pay was settled- 50 pounds a day- Harry jogged over to the concrete area, grinning nervously at the other construction workers he'd be moving blocks with. 

~*~*~

          By lunch break Harry felt about ready to collapse. It was all well and good carrying one 50-pound slab of concrete all the way across the construction site, but when the other workers ridicule you and trip you and stack five more slabs on top of the one you were already carrying, things get a bit tough. All through this behavior, though, Harry kept quiet and endured the extra weight, knowing it would help him to defeat Voldemort and save these very people's lives. When lunchtime came, Harry merely sat and rested-he had no money to buy lunch and there was no refreshment stand in the site. Ignoring the other workers, who had taken out large lunches as well as huge bottles of water, Harry stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and lay down in the shade of a run-down factory, closing his eye for a bit of sleep during the hour he had off.

          Harry had only just shut his eyes when his skin prickled, evidence that someone was starring at him. Opening his eyes with a tired groan, Harry slowly sat up and peered around, searching the crowd of chatting workers until his sad green eyes locked with a pair of confused brown ones. The owner of these questioning eyes was a man of about 30 with short-cropped brown hair and a brown, weathered face with laugh-wrinkles surrounding his eyes and the corners of his thin mouth. The man met Harry's blank gaze steadily before getting up and striding towards Harry's resting place, lunch box in hand. The other workers stopped their talking; obviously this man was the leader of this group of workers.

          The man walked until he was right in front of Harry's sitting form, close enough to shake his hand…or kick him. Harry gazed up apprehensively, ready to curl into a ball if the man made any move to strike him. The worker crouched down and raised his hand, frowning slightly when the new boy flinched and widened his large, amazing green eyes, which were dilated with poorly hidden fear. Extending his large, calloused hand, the worker opened his mouth and spoke.

          "Hey, kid. My name's Seth. You are…?" Harry stared at the man for several seconds, his fearful expression fading and a cautious smile appearing. Maybe his time here wouldn't be so bad, Harry thought.

          "I'm Harry…Harry Potter."


End file.
